In The Common Room
by apprentice wordsmith
Summary: Pretty much what it says on the tin. This is a quick little snippet from Harry's POV, set sometime in sixth year, before it all goes to hell. Now with Part Two!- Luna takes a look at the Ravenclaw Common Room, and we take a look at Luna.
1. Chapter 1

The Gryffindor Common Room is as familiar to Harry as his own hands. As familiar as the faces of his best friends. All defy conscious description; when not before his eyes, they appear not as images in his mind, but as a series of feelings- mostly happiness and contentment.

He can't count the number of times he's stepped through the portrait hole without thinking, rushed through the Common Room because he'd forgotten a book in the dorm and didn't want to choose between getting a detention for being late and getting a detention because he wasn't prepared for class. Hermione might think he doesn't care about classes, or getting in trouble, but he does. A little. When he's not distracted by Voldemort's latest attempt to kill him. That tends to drive everything else out of his mind.

But Voldie's not here, and though Harry hasn't let go of the idea that there are Death Eaters in the castle- or rather, a Death Eater named Draco Malfoy- nobody's attacking him at the moment, and he smiles as he steps into the Common Room and lets the portrait swing shut behind him.

He's immediately enveloped by twin feelings of warmth and golden light. The rest of the castle may be cold, but this is Gryffindor Tower. Fire is the element associated with their House, and what sort of Lions would they be if they couldn't keep themselves warm? Flames crackle in the main fireplace, and coals glow in the smaller places along the walls.

It's a big room, though it looked much bigger when Harry first saw it, six years ago. It has to be large; there are nearly seventy students in Gryffindor, and he vaguely remembers Hermione talking about the relative smallness of their class- something about declining birth rates during a time of war, and generational effects on demographics. He'd stopped listening at that point.

Today is Sunday, and since it's snowing outside, the room is packed. A low hum of conversation rumbles around the room, quieter near the study tables and rising in pitch and volume near the main fireplace, where a group of first years are attempting to toast marshmallows over the fire. From the smell of burnt sugar wafting across the room, they're not having much luck.

Or, maybe they are, Harry decides, making a mental note to avoid that group of students. Firsties hopped up on sugar are more destructive than a niffler in a jewelry shop, especially when it's been snowing for three days and the teachers haven't let them outside to run around.

Was he ever that small and shrill? He must have been, but that seems so long ago. He remembers looking up to the 'big' kids, thinking they were so far above him that he'd never get there, he'd never be able to do the sort of magic they perform as a matter of course.

But now he's one of the 'big' kids. He's not sure how he feels about that. More privileges, but more responsibilities, too. It's nice to have free periods and a later curfew, but there's also a mountain of homework awaiting him, and McGonagall has been hinting that he should 'at least _try _to set a good example for the younger ones'. He refuses to think about the responsibilities awaiting him outside the school; that only ends in laments of 'poor little me', and he did quite enough of that last year, thank you very much. He knows what he has to do, but for a little while, he just wants to be Harry Potter, Hogwarts student.

He takes a few more steps into the room, searching for his friends, nodding politely to his acquaintances. For once, Lavender isn't wound around Ron; she and Parvati are curled up on one of the sofas, poring over an extremely pink magazine. Dean is building a house of cards- a much more interesting pastime than it seems, since he's using Seamus's Exploding Snap deck. McLaggen is holding court by one of the fireplaces, talking loudly about his Quidditch skills while polishing his broomstick- not like that, thank goodness. Harry shudders in disgust and looks around for something more interesting.

Aha! He spies Hermione's mop of hair at one of the study tables, and next to her, less visible because of the glare of the lamp, is Ron. He's looking over her shoulder as surreptitiously as possible, probably trying to crib ideas from whatever essay she's writing. Harry wonders briefly if her hand ever gets tired; he's seen her fill up five feet of parchment without stopping for more than a few seconds at a time.

But when Hermione gets going, she doesn't stop for anything. The same could apply to him, Harry realizes with a wry grin, but at least he hasn't tried to free the house elves en masse. Her determination is one of Hermione's best qualities, as long as it's not directed toward making him study when he'd rather be playing Quidditch.

She glances at him when he sits next to her, then goes back to her work. Ron is a little more talkative, and they gripe about the amount of Charms homework Flitwick's assigned, until Hermione informs them that if they spent as much time writing as they spent whinging about writing, they'd be done before they knew it. That shuts them up, though Ron rolls his eyes behind Hermione's back. Harry would do the same, but she'd notice.

Across the room, Ginny looks up and catches his eye. She's heard their conversation, and by the look in her brown eyes, she finds it highly amusing. Harry barely succeeds in keeping a straight face; Hermione might just kill him if she thinks he's laughing at her. Ginny winks at him and goes back to the gigantic textbook lying open in front of her. When she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, it catches the light and turns bright as fire for a brief instant. Harry momentarily wishes he could sit beside her, playing with her hair, twisting it around his fingers like a copper ring, making her laugh and tell him to stop being so silly.

Then he remembers Ron, sitting beside him, and tries to stop thinking of Ginny. Ron doesn't seem like a protective older brother, but Harry has seen his volcanic temper before, and he doesn't want to chance it. He's on good terms with both of his best friends, and he wants to keep it that way.

Actually, they're all rather friendly at the moment, even if Hermione still can't believe Ron would want to go out with Lavender, and Ron is his usual defensive self on the subject. For now, it seems they've decided on a truce, long may it last. Harry has never liked being stuck in the middle.

But that's part of being a good friend, he reminds himself, and it's better than fighting Death Eaters. Usually. He's never been very good with feelings; a well-aimed hex is easier than trying to psychoanalyze his friends.

Luckily for him, neither is needed at the moment. He doesn't feel like getting out his books, much to Hermione's dismay and Ron's amusement, and he's happy to just sit by his friends and look around. It'll be time for dinner soon, and he'll do his homework afterward.

For now, he just sits, watching and listening and storing up memories. The firsties have moved on to making s'mores; they smell wonderful, until one falls in the fire and a cloud of burnt-chocolate smoke wafting out of the fireplace makes everyone grimace. Scarcely has that dissipated when there's a loud _pop-bang_ sound and Dean's house of cards collapses, singeing his eyebrows.

But this is a school of magic, and with a bit of wand-waving by the older students, the air is cleared. Dean's eyebrows will have to grow back on their own. Hm. Maybe Ginny will take bald eyes as a sign of stupidity, and dump him. Harry smiles at the thought.

Outside, the blizzard howls, rattling the windows and piling snow on the sills. Death Eaters are prowling around, the Ministry is full of its usual idiocy, and no doubt Voldie is plotting yet another scheme in his attempt at World Domination, mwa-ha-ha.

But inside, it's warm and dry. Harry is safe and well-fed, and surrounded by his friends. He smiles, and shakes his head when Hermione asks him what's so funny.

It's not funny. But it is happy. Harry is happy. How could he not be?

After all, he is home.

The End.

A/N: I know Harry's vocabulary isn't quite this expansive. But I've always thought he's smarter than he seems, both practically and academically. He just doesn't show it, partly as a consequence of being neglected as a child. He never learned how to study, or the benefits of a good education, and may have even been 'encouraged' to hide his light under a bushel, poor kid.

In any case, I wanted to give you a nice, light, little story. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for stopping by!


	2. Chapter 2

Whenever she steps into the Ravenclaw Common Room, Luna thinks of an eagle's eyrie and smiles. Everyone looks at her oddly, but she's used to that. And why shouldn't she smile when she's happy?

Ravenclaw Tower isn't always a place of perfect happiness, of course. Even after four years at Hogwarts, she still keeps her important possessions in her bookbag, which is rarely out of arm's reach. She's learned quite a few locking and locating charms over the years, so her books and homework have ceased to disappear at random, or if they do, they aren't gone for long. And of course, she's learned to walk evenly, not looking down at her feet even as she avoids the shod feet, bookbags, cushions, and other detritus that her rather careless classmates tend to leave out. And all of these items gravitate toward her; she finds it rather funny that no matter where she goes, she must take a circuitous path. It's almost as if her classmates' possessions want to leave them and live with her.

She doesn't mind. Sometimes the things that other people call possessions, mere inanimate objects, have more personality than the humans who claim to own them. Her radish earrings, for example, have distinct likes and dislikes, and woe betide her if she puts the left one in her right ear. The right one isn't as cantankerous; she prefers to bump soothingly against Luna's neck no matter which side she is on.

Today, Luna has left off her radish earrings; they need a rest now and again, just like people. Her relative lack of jewelry doesn't make her classmates look any more kindly on her; they still look up when she passes by and move away from her.

She shrugs and takes another step into the Common Room. It's so nice to simply look around and _see_. She's not in a hurry; it's Saturday, and many people are outside, enjoying the last of the good weather before winter sets in. Before long, they'll have to content themselves with looking out of the many windows; the view of the mountains is _almost_ good enough to make up for being trapped inside.

The Tower is best in autumn and spring. Not that it's terrible in the winter, but it is rather high up, and catches the wind. Luna would like that, if it would sway like a tree in the breeze, but alas, it is still, thanks to the magic of the castle.

Hogwarts's magic doesn't stop the cool air from seeping through the stones, however. When the weather is pleasant, no one minds. When it's unpleasant, there's a lot of complaining from under the piles of cloaks and blankets that hide unhappy students attempting to study when their breath frosts the air. Luna is usually the only one not complaining; Wrackspurts dislike the cold, and she finds it easier to learn and remember without them flapping around her. No one else seems to notice them, however, and she's learned not to mention the annoying creatures aloud.

Not even when a cloud of them are hovering over the heads of a group of her fellow fourth years, who are making a valiant attempt at their Transfiguration homework, their low-voiced discussion drifting across the room to her ears. Luna thinks of herself as a nice person- far nicer than she should be, sometimes- but she's still human, and a little bubble of quiet contentment forms in her chest when she remembers that she's already done that essay, and found it quite simple, in fact.

But two of the girls in that group are her worst tormentors. As her roommates, they have ample opportunity to abscond with her socks, short-sheet her bed, and put Cooling Charms on the shower when she's not looking. So Luna walks serenely past their study table, to stand in front of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.

The statue is nearly a thousand years old, and yet it looks alive in the right light. The white marble of the Founder's face could be cold, but the skill of the sculptor is such that she looks wise.

And rather happy, Luna thinks. Not content, precisely; what Ravenclaw could be content when there are books unread and mysteries unsolved in the world? But something about the eyes of the statue makes her think of a fire burning bright, seeking knowledge and understanding even while its mouth is serene and its stone robes drape gracefully about its feet.

Mummy and Daddy travelled all over the world before Luna was born, and she vividly recalls her mother saying that the lost statue of Athena, which graced the Parthenon until it was removed by Greek wizards to keep it safe, was very like to the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. Mummy had some of that serenity, Luna remembers, and it is in her honor that Luna tries not to mind when her shoes turn up on the beach, having been gently retrieved from the lake and placed there by the Giant Squid, or when all of her ink mysteriously vanishes. Goddesses, and mothers, don't mind the silly tricks of children.

"Hey, Loony," a mocking voice calls her attention away from the statue. She adopts her blandest expression and turns to see Marietta standing a few feet away, looking impatient.

"Is something the matter?" she says quietly. What a silly nickname. She's considered asking people to stop using it, but it amuses them, and doesn't really hurt her, so why not?

"Somebody to see you," Marietta says, jerking her thumb toward the door. She doesn't look very happy about it, so it might not be a prank.

Luna lets her wand slide down her sleeve, into her hand, just in case. She goes to the door; Marietta steps back as she approaches, as though she's afraid of Luna-cooties.

_What _are_ cooties?_ she wonders briefly. She's never seen one, and she sees everything. If one listens to the other Ravenclaws, she sees things that aren't even there.

But Ginny Weasley, standing outside the door, isn't a figment of her imagination. She's flicking her long red hair out of her eyes, and smiles when she sees Luna framed in the doorway.

"Hi, Luna," she says, and she actually sounds happy. That's nice. "I thought we were going to study for Charms."

"Oh, yes; I'd forgotten." She hadn't, not really, but Marietta is still listening in, and there's no sense in wrecking the other students' perception of her. She hitches her bag higher onto her shoulder, steps out into the corridor, and lets the door swung shut behind her.

"Library?" Ginny says as they set off down the spiral staircase.

As a good Ravenclaw, she should be ecstatic to go to the library. But Luna never was a very good Ravenclaw. Smart, she thinks, but never good, according to the other Ravenclaws. "Let's go and sit by the lake," she suggests. "If we're lucky, we might see a grindylow; they know a little about Charms. But you have to sing to them in the key of G, or they'll flick water at you."

Ginny, like a good friend, shrugs obligingly and peels back the tapestry that conceals a stairway to the Entrance Hall. "I think I'll leave the singing to you. I can't carry a tune in a bucket."

Luna laughs. It's good to have a friend to laugh with.

End.

A/N:Luna became one of my favorite HP characters after I read Elsa2's incredible epic The Horse. The story has been finished for nearly a decade now, but it remains one of my favorites, and really brought to life a brilliant and odd character. I only wish I had Luna's flair for lateral thinking.

FYI, cooties is a slang term for lice/fleas/bedbugs/other vermin. But Luna doesn't live in the Victorian Era, which was the last period in history that bugs of that sort were common in England.

I'm considering doing one of these for each House, because it's an excellent way to procrastinate on books I should be writing. Name your favorite Hufflepuff and/or Slytherin in the comments, and you might see a little scene from their perspective!


End file.
